


To Everything

by merriman



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Yuletide, Yuletide 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-19
Updated: 2010-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriman/pseuds/merriman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As might be guessed by anyone who knows the school, yes, two of the names are BMC dorms.<br/>The Night-blooming Cereus is a real plant, blooming on warm nights with the flowers wilting by morning.<br/>Thank you to A and A for beta duty.</p>
    </blockquote>





	To Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melly/gifts).



> As might be guessed by anyone who knows the school, yes, two of the names are BMC dorms.  
> The Night-blooming Cereus is a real plant, blooming on warm nights with the flowers wilting by morning.  
> Thank you to A and A for beta duty.

Snow Moon, 1037 K.F.

The cottage was perfect. Of course, the garden was just a patch of dirt covered in rime for the time being and the rooms in the cottage were empty save for Rosethorn's workshop and bedroom. There was a table in the kitchen, though, and Rosethorn had a worktable and all of the tools she needed.

Winter passed slowly, but Rosethorn didn't mind, for once. Her birthday came and went without notice, which was how she liked it. Quiet was something Rosethorn valued. Quiet to think and to work. The only problem with the winter was the lack of plants. Of course there were house plants, and evergreens, and the dried spices and seeds that Rosethorn would spend the winter working with, but it wasn't the same.

Still, winter would pass eventually, so Rosethorn wrapped herself in a wool habit and got out her supplies for making winter cold remedies. People always needed cough syrups, lotions for chapped hands and lips, teas and soups for fevers and chills. The mundane might have been below some people Rosethorn considered herself too mature to name, but they were a comfort to her.

Some time between when she put on a pot of oil to heat and when it was ready for the herbs she'd prepared, the sun had gone down. Rosethorn left the pot on the table and went to light the lamps around her workshop. The wind was worse upstairs than downstairs, rattling the shutters in the empty second floor bedrooms, but she didn't bother going up to check. No one lived in the rooms. Not yet, anyhow.

There would be students some day. Students and another teacher for them. There was space for four students, one to a room. The very thought of having four young, untrained mages in the cottage made Rosethorn sigh in resignation as she went back to her pot. She stirred in another pinch of rosemary and sat back. For now the cottage was all hers.

With that thought in her head, Rosethorn took the pot off the fire, left it to cool on the hearth in the outer room and went to bed. She slept deeply, dreaming of seeds under the snow, curled up in their casings and waiting.

She woke to the sound of a knock at the front door while it was still dark out. Grumbling to herself about the interruption of much-needed sleep, Rosethorn rose and dressed quickly to get the door.

"Oh," she muttered, seeing Dedicate Crane when she opened the door. "What brings you to me at this hour? Having trouble in that glass monstrosity of yours?"

Crane sighed heavily and shook his head. "No, none at all as a matter of fact. I was merely coming to ask if you would like to visit and see a wonder. But I suppose you are too busy with your work so late at night? Brewing syrups and lotions? Balms?" He managed to sneer more with every word but without actually letting it distort his face. Rosethorn itched to slap him, but held her hands at her sides.

"And what sort of wonder would I want to see that would draw me to the greenhouse?" Rosethorn inquired. Crane only smiled and stood aside. Curiosity got the better of her and she pulled on boots before heading outside. The air was crisp and clear and in the distance the tower bells rang the hour. It was late indeed, or early, depending on your view. There wasn't any snow, just a coating of frost over hard ground.

Crane's workshop was made entirely of glass and magic. In the still night, it looked like it could have been all ice. Rosethorn had despised it before it had even been built.

Once inside, Crane led her through the first two rooms, not bothering to try and impress her with the beds and trays of summer-grown plants sprouting in winter. There was something false about how it smelled. Something stale - but then there was something else, sweet and fresh. Crane was leading her to his private office and inside, on his worktable, was a huge pot with one of the ugliest plants Rosethorn had ever seen. It had a single flower, the source of the smell.

"What is it?" she asked, going over to look at it.

"Night-blooming Cereus," Crane said, watching as the Cereus reached for Rosethorn's hands, working tendrils around her fingers and up her arms. "It only blooms once in a great while and only at night, never in winter. The bloom will be gone by morning. I thought you would appreciate it."

The Cereus was tired. Rosethorn ran her power through it, comforting and soothing, asking wordlessly why it bloomed when it was so worn. The Cereus had no answer other than warmth and more warmth. Rosethorn slowly backed away, then turned and looked to Crane.

"Let it have its rest, Crane. That's how it's supposed to work."

"My dear, it is fine. I merely thought you would want to see such an unusual bloom."

Rosethorn stroked a finger over the Cereus' petals. "It's lovely, Crane. But it will bloom again. Come get me some time when it's natural."

"You can't stay alone in that cottage forever," Crane muttered to her. "You know Moonstream has chosen another Dedicate to teach there with you. She's coming from Vine Circle Temple, in Lairan."

"I know," Rosethorn said simply. "And I'm sure Dedicate Lark will know better than to go waking me in the middle of the night to see a plant blooming when it should be asleep."

Back at the cottage, Rosethorn had trouble getting back to sleep, thinking on the Cereus in Crane's workroom and Dedicate Lark on her way from Vine Circle. When she slept again it was without dreams.

\----

Seed Moon -- 1038 K.F.

"Rosethorn?" Lark's voice was just outside the workroom door but she hadn't knocked yet. Rosethorn took her time, finishing the trimming she'd been working on. Springtime only encouraged plants to hurry up and grow, but Rosethorn had found that if she slowed them, made them take their time, the results come autumn were all the stronger. She tried to lose herself in the trimming again when there was a soft knock, followed by Lark's voice again. "Rosethorn, midday is ready."

Rosethorn sighed and put down her clippers, taking care to clean up her worktable before leaving the room. Lark had already seated herself at the table by the time Rosethorn emerged. She offered Rosethorn a smile and didn't seem put off when Rosethorn didn't return it with one of her own.

"Weeding this afternoon?" Lark asked as she waited for Rosethorn to sit down. "I was thinking of bringing my carding outside. It's such a lovely day for the beginning of Seed Moon."

Rosethorn sat and nodded. "Weeding weeding weeding. You know, Crane claims he doesn't have to weed in that palace of his."

Sighing, Lark nodded. "I know, Rosethorn. I've heard him. Perhaps he has a point?"

"It's not right. Weeding's a part of the cycle. It's..." Rosethorn paused and shook her head. How could she make it clear that it was simply wrong to her?

Lark nodded, rescuing Rosethorn from having to find the words. "It just is," Lark murmured. Then she bowed her head and whispered a short prayer of thanks to the gods before serving herself. Rosethorn did the same and ate quickly, wanting to get the meal done with so she could continue with her work.

"You'll choke," Lark said, laughter evident in her voice even if she was carefully not smiling as she said it.

Rosethorn looked over at her and shook her head. "There's so much to do."

Lark left her alone after that. It wasn't that Rosethorn didn't like the other Dedicate or trust her. It was that she didn't think she was ready to share the cottage. She didn't know if Lark would understand just how much had changed since they'd met as novices. One year spent together at Winding Circle - Rosethorn done with her novitiate while Lark was just starting - simply wasn't enough.

Outside in the garden the plants were all ankle-high at most. Some of the seeds were still struggling to push tendrils up through the soil. Rosethorn kicked her sandals off at the edge of the garden and crouched down, plucking weeds from around a row of bean plants that were going slower than the rest. Beans were sturdy once they got started and getting them started had never been difficult before. Rosethorn fed a tiny spark of power into each vine before moving on. They just needed a bit of encouragement.

The next patch was her tomatoes, thriving in the specially treated soil she'd prepared for them. The plants were precious to her and she'd been tending them as seedlings since early in Storm Moon, starting them in her workroom to give them a chance to grow a bit before going outside. Crane had a few plants as well, but the rumors coming from his assistants said that they were giving him trouble, growing short stalks and small fruits that wouldn't ripen properly. Rosethorn smiled slightly and fed her power into the tomatoes, checking for rot or disease.

Weeding took time. That was Rosethorn's chief complaint about it, though she was careful now to keep it to herself and never mention it near Crane. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out in the garden when the wind shifted, coming through the windows and back door of the cottage now, carrying with it a familiar voice.

"I'm just not sure she's ready for a student," Lark sighed. "She needs more rest. More time." Rosethorn was certain she was the subject of conversation. Sudden irritation at being talked about like an invalid, unable to make her own decisions, made her stand and step away from her roses with every intention of marching into the cottage and demanding to know what gave Lark the right. The roses, however, had other plans. She'd chosen her name both as a joke and seriously. No one would ever argue that Rosethorn was prickly, but she loved the plants themselves. Now the branches of the roses caught at her habit, sinking thorns in as they protested her sudden movement. She paused, hearing a second voice.

"I've taken two students since I returned," Crane protested. "Two full students and several assistants. The best way to handle it is to just jump right back in and get it over with. She had the whole winter to recover."

Gritting her teeth against both the thorns that scratched and dug at her as well as Crane's words, Rosethorn set to removing the vines, still listening, though she knew she wasn't meant to hear.

"You and she are not the same, no matter how similar your interests and strengths are," Lark told him. "I know Pembroke is giving you difficulties. I know that's what this cottage is meant for, or will be meant for, but I will not force this. Stop trying to rush her, Crane. She needs you as a friend more than as an enemy."

Crane's reply was lost as the breeze shifted again and Rosethorn finally managed to disentangle herself. Going inside would be immensely satisfying, but Lark would give her one of those looks. One of those you-should-know-better looks that she gave whenever Rosethorn let her temper get the better of her. Rosethorn sighed and made sure the roses were as they should be before heading back towards the cottage.

"Lark!" she called as she neared the door. "You have to come see my tomato plants! They're doing so well!" That would serve Crane for sticking his beak into things. When she came through the back door Crane was nowhere to be found. Lark sat at the table, her carding basket on the floor beside her and two mugs of cold tea on the table in front of her. Lark smiled and held out one of the mugs.

"I'd love to see your tomatoes," she told Rosethorn. "And I thought I'd take a walk this evening after dinner. Join me?"

Rosethorn took the mug and sipped. It was prepared just the way she liked. "Where were you going to walk to?"

"Just around the grounds." Lark smiled again as she picked up her basket in one hand and her mug in the other. "You don't have to come if you don't like. But the invitation stands."

"No need to be so patronizing," Rosethorn complained as she held the door open for Lark. "Of course I'll join you."

\----

Rose Moon, 1038 K.F.

"Ulra offered seeds to anyone who wanted them but only Crane and I took them," Rosethorn told Lark as she plucked tomatoes from their vines. "He'd hoped to have a few seedlings started, but he took sick before he got the chance."

Lark nodded and reached out to briefly rest one hand on Rosethorn's shoulder. "But you got them to grow here. They look delicious."

"They are. They're like nothing else," Rosethorn told Lark, handing her one basket full and moving on to the next row. "Most of the plant is poisonous. Ulra warned Crane and I about that before he'd let us have the seeds. I thought I might have time to get them started there..." She trailed off and shrugged, pausing to check on a plant with one yellowed leaf. "We just didn't have the time."

The rest of the tomato plants had been planted later in the season. Their fruits hung on their vines, still green and hard. Rosethorn had lost the first few plants, much to her dismay. Two had withered and died and the others had each given only a few small fruits. She'd planted a second time and spent most of her time devoted to them. Now she seemed to have the knack and every plant was tall and steady inside a wire mesh cage.

Rosethorn wandered up and down her garden, checking on the peas and squash along with her roses. Every evening since the start of the month, a single perfect rose had been left in a vase on Lark's desk in her workroom. Neither of them said anything about it and Rosethorn was careful to do it when Lark was otherwise occupied. It saved a bit of fuss.

The full heat of the summer wasn't on them yet but being outside in the sun for the afternoon sent them both hurrying for the shelter of the cottage as soon as the vegetables were tended to. The cottage itself was cooler than the garden by a good measure. Open doors and windows both upstairs and down drew breezes through the building, rustling Rosethorn's hanging herbs in her workshop and the weavings on Lark's walls. The bottom floor smelled of thyme and sage and fresh greens as Rosethorn made a salad - all either of them really wanted for an evening meal - and Lark set the table.

Normally there would be conversation as they sat, discussion of what the cottage needed done to it or the latest doings of the other Dedicates at the temple. There was always something going on and while Rosethorn wasn't known to be particularly talkative amongst the other Dedicates, she was known to be opinionated and unafraid to make those opinions known. At least with Lark, such things never turned into sullen silence or pointless debate. Lark listened and questioned and made Rosethorn think. Eventually she'd weigh in with her own thoughts, often making Rosethorn stop and consider what she'd said. Lark never gloated about that or Rosethorn wouldn't have bothered. For that one evening, however, there was no talk. Where Crane or even Moonstream would have pressed Rosethorn and demanded to know what she was thinking, Lark merely poured water into glasses and handed one over, leaving both the prayer and the meal silent.

Outside there were insects buzzing in the early evening and the sound of voices as various temple residents walked down the paths that came near the cottage. Lark cleaned up after the meal then went over to Rosethorn and laid a soft kiss on her forehead before going into her workshop. A few moments later the sound of her loom filled the cottage through the open doorway.

Rosethorn retreated to her own workshop to work on her projects but none of them seemed important just then. Who needed a new sunburn balm or headache tea? They had plenty of both. Eventually, she put her things away and took a book of notes across the main room to Lark's doorway.

"Do you mind?" Rosethorn asked, gesturing to Lark's cot with the notebook. "My workshop feels a bit stuffy."

Lark sent her shuttle through once more and paused in her weaving to look up. "Of course I don't mind," she said, smiling at Rosethorn. "I told you, you're always welcome."

Rosethorn settled on the cot and opened her book. "But that could have been out of gratitude for that syrup I made you."

"When I was a novice, yes. Wonderful as it was, Rosie, stopping my wheezes isn't why you're welcome." Lark smiled again and went back to her weaving. Rosethorn watched her, wishing for a moment that she had her Eyebright oil so she could see what magic Lark was doing with her cloth. Something for protection, perhaps. Or maybe a cooling charm set in the weave.

Rosethorn wasn't certain when she'd fallen asleep, but she woke when Lark moved the notebook from her hands, setting it aside on her desk before sitting down next to her on the cot.

There were no words Rosethorn was willing to utter, no requests or admissions. Instead of getting up and going to her own cot in her own room, Rosethorn stayed where she was, waiting for Lark to nod, which she did. They both stripped out of their habits then, leaving them draped over the chair at Lark's desk. It was cool enough by then for two to stay on the cot, so long as neither minded the lack of room. Lark kissed Rosethorn and pulled her close.

After, as a breeze from Lark's window drifted in and cooled them off, Rosethorn turned in her arms and sighed. "I wonder sometimes," she muttered, "why Ulra and Elmbrook and Xiyun didn't make it through unscathed and Crane and I did. I think it's that we're both stubborn and obnoxious."

"Shh," Lark scolded, smoothing back Rosethorn's curls and silencing her with a kiss. "You're both those things and more."

\----

Barley Moon, 1038 K.F.

Early fall brought a flurry of activity to the cottage as Rosethorn enlisted Lark and their new student, a novice named Rhodes, to get all of the vegetables in and stored for the colder months. Rhodes was quiet and spent most of her time in her room on the second floor, steadfastly ignoring both Rosethorn and Lark as well as any and all visitors to the cottage. She refused to believe she had any magical ability at all. Lark had told Moonstream they would be patient but Rosethorn privately put it a different way. If anyone could win a battle of wills in the cottage, she was it. Rhodes didn't stand a chance.

The air was crisp with the promise of an early frost. A mild summer was giving way to a harsh fall. Most of the trees on the temple grounds had already turned to shades of gold and red and the only gardener not visibly readying for the winter was Dedicate Crane. Rosethorn routinely refused his invitations to the greenhouse, even when Lark gently suggested that she try to be polite for once and just go and see what he wanted. The last time he'd come to see them himself he'd brought a gift - a clipping of the plant he'd shown Rosethorn back in the winter, but he'd cautioned that he didn't expect it to bloom again until the summer.

Rosethorn didn't have time to concern herself with a fanciful and difficult flower. She had a garden to care for, projects to work on, a student to out-stubborn and a friend to take care of. Lark was having trouble breathing again. When Rosethorn heard the sickeningly familiar sound of Lark trying to quietly catch her breath, she marched through the pumpkins and down the aisle to Lark, taking her basket away.

"Inside," she ordered, making Rhodes start then pretend she was still ignoring them. "Inside and a cup of your tea. Rhodes and I can finish out here."

Lark sighed and reached for the basket. "Rosie, I'll be fine. It's not that bad."

Rosethorn held the basket away from the taller woman and shook her head. "I don't care. Don't make me hang you in the well."

The glaring match only lasted a moment, with Rosethorn winning as she'd known she would. Lark knew that once the wheezes started she had to sit down and relax. Rosethorn simply had to remind her every so often.

"You need another set of hands," Lark said, taking the basket to carry in with her.

"I'll bully Crane into giving me someone. He'll be so shocked I spoke to him he'll do anything I want." Rosethorn followed Lark inside, setting her own basket down in the kitchen. "Don't push, Lark. Moonstream said it would take another year for it to go away completely and if you keep pushing it will just take longer. You can't get sick. How would I deal with a student alone, hmm?" She wrapped one arm around Lark's shoulders and kissed her cheek.

"No, we can't have that. The poor girl would end up in the well," Lark teased, kissing Rosethorn back. "I'll make my tea and be a good little housebird for tonight, but I'm helping you tomorrow."

Rosethorn let it go at that, kissed Lark again and headed back outside. By tomorrow they'd have everything done but a few things that wouldn't be ready for harvest until Blood Moon at least. All she wanted was to not lose anything to a frost.

Rosethorn plucked the last tomato from its vine and brought it over to put in Rhodes' basket. "Go on in," she told the girl. "And don't bother Lark. She's supposed to be resting. It would be nice if at least one person in the cottage did as I said."

Without a word, Rhodes went on inside leaving Rosethorn alone in the garden. The wind rustled the leaves, sending a whiff of wood smoke towards Rosethorn from the cottage chimney. The dark was coming earlier these days so she picked up Rhodes' abandoned basket and set to finishing.

Rhodes retreated up to her room as soon as the meal was over, leaving Rosethorn to oversee the novices who came to take her vegetables to the temple storehouses. When that was done and the empty baskets were stacked in Rosethorn's workshop she walked over to Lark, waiting for her to look up before taking the embroidery from her hands and putting it in her work bag. "Stay with me tonight," she whispered. "I know we have Rhodes here but she won't know or care. Stay with me and if you have trouble in the night I'll be there."

Lark took her hand and stood. "Of course, dearest," she said. They banked the fire in the hearth and blew out the lamps in the outer room. Rosethorn waited at Lark's doorway while Lark got a nightgown then took her hand again to cross the room and open her door.

As the door opened a sweetness curled around them. Rosethorn frowned and went over to the Cereus, all but forgotten on her table. She'd only really taken the time to water it lately, missing entirely that a flower had been ready to bloom around the back of the plant. Gently, she lifted the runner the flower was on, turning the pot with her other hand.

"Crane called it a wonder," she told Lark. "It wasn't supposed to bloom this late. It's a hot weather plant."

Lark leaned in and took as deep a breath as she could. "It's lovely, Rosie. But you know what this means?"

"I'll simply have to tell Crane he was wrong," Rosethorn replied, grinning. "However will I cope?"

"I'm sure you'll manage," Lark told her. "Tomorrow. Now come to bed and keep me warm."

Rosethorn smiled and joined her on the cot, blowing out her candle and tucking the blankets around them tightly. "I'll keep you warm all winter," she promised, certain that Lark understood.

  
   


  
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